


Sign For It

by thefutureisbright



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Legal Secretary!Eddie, M/M, One Shot, Swearing, a very small bit of angst if you squint, courier!Richie, this is just all kindsa silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:09:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefutureisbright/pseuds/thefutureisbright
Summary: Thursdays were the days he got to deliver packages to Meyer Goldstein, the corporate law firm down on 5th – the one in the building with the mirrored windows and the futuristic art installation out the front. Richie has walked past it every Thursday for the past two and a half months, and he still couldn’t work out what it was supposed to be. It just looked like a load of boobs, all meshed together with some kind of gold metal? Richie reminded himself, for the ninth time, to ask Eddie what the hell it was supposed to be.





	Sign For It

Richie hadn’t ever intended to stay working at the package delivery company for more than a few months. He’d told himself it was a stop gap, just a way of making money whilst he was putting himself through school. It’d been three years, one degree, and three different apartments later, and he was still working as a courier, biking around the city at the crack of dawn delivering packages to corporate businesses. Sure, it wasn’t half bad. The pay was surprisingly great, cycling was keeping him pretty fit ( _and looking pretty fucking fly, if he said so himself),_ and he enjoyed getting to shoot the shit with all of the different people he’d deliver packages to. Really, his job was pretty sweet. He’d gone to school for communications with a minor in screen writing. Ambitions of being a comedian, he’d told his parents. Gonna make it big in the big apple, he’d told them, and they’d just laughed at him. ‘ _Sure you are, son’._ Well, he’d done half of what he’d promised. He lived in New York, and he was doing open mike’s every second Saturday. He wasn’t being paid to do it, and the audience was never more than fifteen or so people. He didn’t really speak to his parents much anyway. His mother was often too drunk to remember how to use a phone, and his father was too narcissistic to remember that he had a son. That suited Richie, though. He was alone in the big city – _New Yoik Citay, don’t you know–_ and he was doing just fine, _thank you very much._

 

Thursdays were, without a shadow of a doubt, Richie’s favourite day. He lived for Thursdays. He always woke at the crack of dawn, heart _thump-thump-thumping_ in his chest, like it was going to bust out of his ribs like one of those old cheesy horror films, like it was simply too excited to be confined to its fleshy prison anymore. Richie knew how it felt. Thursdays were the days he got to deliver packages to Meyer Goldstein, the corporate law firm down on 5th – the one in the building with the mirrored windows and the futuristic art installation out the front. Richie has walked past it every Thursday for the past two and a half months, and he still couldn’t work out what it was supposed to be. It just looked like a load of boobs, all meshed together with some kind of gold metal? Richie reminded himself, for the ninth time, to ask Eddie what the hell it was supposed to be.

 

Eddie worked on reception at Meyer Goldstein, and he had done for the entire time Richie had been delivering there. The first time they’d met Richie had nearly choked on his gum when he’d rang on the small antique bell on the reception desk to get someone to come and sign for the package, and Eddie had sauntered out of the back closet dressed in a suit that looked like it’d crafted from the finest of silks just for him. It was a light grey, three piece suit, with pants cuffed just above the ankles. Eddie was wearing soft, suede loafers with no socks. His hair was quaffed up messily, and he was wearing thin rimmed glasses. Richie thought he was, unquestionably, undeniably, the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Richie’s infatuation was made infinitely worse when they’d actually started to talk.

 

‘Hey Hot Stuff, I’ve got a parcel for a Mister James Goldstein, care to sign for it?’

 

Eddie had blushed fiercely, before taking the pen from Richie’s outstretched hand and signing the acceptance form with a flourish. Richie had tried to read the signature, trying to decode the elegant swirls, before –

 

‘Eddie, it says Eddie Kaspbrak, because – because that’s my name, I guess’

 

Oh man. _Oh maaaaaan._ He was totally going to marry Eddie Kaspbrak.

 

‘Eds, hmm? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?’

 

‘Oh, I’m a legal secretary, nothing too exciting. I just made endless coffees and fax a lot of stuff. We still use fax here, if you can believe it. My boss is a _total_ technophobe and refuses to learn how to use e-mail. _I’ve lasted fifteen years with the fax, I don’t see why I should have to use this damn email ma-jiggy!’_ Eddie puffed out his chest, adopting a hilariously terrible accent – so terrible, in fact, that Richie couldn’t work out what it was actually supposed to be. Eddie blushed again, and ran a hand through his hair.

 

‘That was pretty embarrassing, I don’t really know why I did that’

 

Richie had opened his mouth to reply, but the phone on the desk started to ring.

 

‘I’m sorry – I’ve gotta – Meyer Goldstein, this is Edward’

 

Eddie immediately shifted from bashful to corporate business man, and Richie would be lying if he said he wasn’t a tiny bit turned on by the confidence saturating Eddie’s words. He noticed a pile of post-it notes on the desk, and, when Eddie was preoccupied with the computer, he grabbed one and drew a dopy drawing of a duck. Underneath the duck, he wrote ‘ _you’d better be here next Thursday, or I’ll go quackers’._ Laughing at his own terrible pun, Richie turned and left the office, glancing back at Eddie just once. He caught Eddie’s eye, and Eddie’s soft gaze sent electric sparks straight down his spine.

* * *

That’s how it’d been for the last two and a half months. Richie would deliver packages every Thursday morning, and Eddie would sign for them, and they’d flirt shamelessly. Eddie was always wearing something criminally attractive, sometimes it’d be the full three-piece suit get up that made Eddie look so put together all Richie wanted to do was mess him up, or sometimes it would be a simple crisp white shirt tucked into khaki slacks. One blissful Thursday, though, Richie had bounced into the office and nearly choked on his own spit when he saw Eddie, who was dressed in skin-tight leather pants and a velvet shirt the colour of sin. Eddie had just smiled at him awkwardly, before apologising that he couldn’t sign for Richie’s package today because he wasn’t technically at work, he’d just come in to pick up the hard drive he’d left here. Richie had just stared at him, dumbly and completely unashamedly, and if Eddie had walked out of the office with his hips swaying more than perhaps was necessary, Richie sure as shit wasn’t complaining.

 

He’d gotten to know Eddie pretty well by now. Eddie had been there almost every Thursday and every Thursday that Eddie was there Richie would, without fail, be over an hour late for his next delivery. He was sure than Geoffrey at their main office was probably going to fire him for it eventually, but Richie couldn’t bring himself to care all that much.

 

They talked about everything and anything. Richie knew that Eddie grew up in Maine, with an overprotective mother and a father who’d died when he was twelve. Eddie knew that Richie wanted to be a comedian, and that he had a strained relationship with his parents. Eddie told Richie that what he really wanted to do was become a paediatric nurse, but he didn’t have the money to pay for college. Richie told Eddie that he felt stuck in his job, that he felt like he’d be delivering packages until he dropped down dead. Eddie had told him that he could do anything he wanted to, in such an open, sincere way that Richie wanted to throw himself over the desk and tackle Eddie to the ground.

 

* * *

 

 

‘You’re having a fucking laugh, Richie, Taylor Dayne is _infinitely_ better than fucking Weezer. I mean, _Weezer?_ Seriously? _Weezer?_ Like, Hash Pipe Weezer?’

 

‘Yes, like Hash Pipe Weezer, they’re the best band to come out of America since Nickleback, Eds’

 

‘Nickleback aren’t even –!’

 

‘…’

 

‘… you’re fucking with me aren’t you’

 

Richie howled with laughter, clutching his stomach. If he didn’t know Eddie (and he _did_ know Eddie, sure, it had only been two and a half months but… Richie felt like it’d been at least five times that) he’d think he was actually annoyed. Eddie was glaring at him, with his arms folded, brow furrowed. But Richie _did_ know Eddie, so he knew that the glare and the scowl and the knotted brow were just an expression of faux-exasperation, and, as if on cue, Eddie’s scowl melted away to reveal an impish grin.

 

‘You’re a nightmare, you know’

 

‘I sure am, Eds, but I’m _your_ nightmare’

 

Richie was growing somewhat impatient with their little arrangement. He’d found out that Eddie was also gay the third time he’d met him, when he’d accused Eddie of staring at the ass of the older woman who occupied the other side of Eddie’s desk. Eddie had smacked him on the arm before admitting, ‘she’s not exactly my type, Richard, not enough dick’

 

Richie had just raised his eyebrows, and asked him why, because ‘sure, she’s probably pushing 50 but she’s got a tight bod, Eds, she’s a right MILF’

 

Eddie’s face had shifted from playful exasperation into something cold and unreadable. Richie instantly knew he’d overstepped.

 

‘Yeah, I mean – I guess Sandra – maybe you should talk to her? I’m sure she’d fuck you if that’s what you’re after’ Eddie had replied, bluntly. He’d all but spat the word ‘fuck’, and Richie wanted to smash his head on Eddie’s meticulously organised desk.

 

‘Eds, she’s not exactly my type either’ he’d replied, softly, as if Eddie was a skittish bird he wanted to keep perched on his finger. Beautiful.

 

Eddie just rolled his eyes, but it was unfamiliar. It didn’t betray a latent light-heartedness, but was instead born in annoyance. Richie never wanted to see it again.

 

‘She’s not my type because, in case you couldn’t tell from the way I’ve been trying to shamelessly charm you into giving me your number for the past two weeks, I’m as gay as the day is long’

 

Eddie’s face shifted through various expressions at the speed of light – from annoyance, to confusion, to realisation and straight into embarrassment.

 

‘Oh you’re – I thought you – when you said – I mean – I’m sorry, Richie’ Eddie fumbled over his words adorably, staring intently at something on the desk. Richie tried to catch his eye.

 

‘Were you _jealous,_ Eddie?’

 

‘Shut up, Trashmouth’

 

* * *

 

 

If that third meeting had gone how Richie had wanted it to, Eddie would have given him his number, and they’d have been married by now, with a dog and a house and a white picket fence. But, of course, life is not a fairy tale, and the big guy in the sky wasn’t Richie’s biggest fan, apparently, because he still didn’t have Eddie’s number and they hadn’t so much as seen each other outside of Eddie’s office. Hell, Eddie still hadn’t seen Richie wear anything but his ugly work clothes – tight cycling tights and a big red hooded sweater with ‘ _MacMillan Couriers’_ emblazoned on the front in a garish yellow. After the whole ‘I’m gay and I want you in my bed’ scenario, Eddie had been called away by his boss. Eddie had just scuttled off, leaving Richie with a hushed ‘ _sorry, Rich’,_ before he disappeared into one of the doors at the back of the room. Richie hadn’t brought it up since then. He continued flirting with Eddie ( _we was pretty sure he couldn’t NOT flirt with Eddie),_ but something in him screamed ‘STOP!!!!!’ every time he got close to giving Eddie his cell number. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he didn’t often have any semblance of impulse control, so when it appeared, he tended to listen to it.

 

Eddie had changed, somewhat, too. His looks lingered for slightly too long to be entirely platonic, his fingers would linger on Richie’s when he’d pass the pen back after singing the acceptance form, and he’d started staring at Richie’s mouth when Richie was speaking. Often, he’d ask Eddie a completely ridiculous question in the middle of what he was saying, something along the lines of, ‘ _did you know that I have a giant sloth in my garage at home’_  and Eddie would just reply ‘ _uh-huh, that’s really cool, Rich’_ , obviously not listening to what Richie was saying. Richie would be lying if he said it didn’t make him want to puff his chest out, all alpha-male, ‘ _this hottie with a body is looking at ME like that’,_ type stuff. He knew it was ridiculous, but that didn’t mean he wanted to stop feeling like that.

 

They continued to dance around each other like this, and it was driving Richie very slightly insane. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this professional before he was forced to jump Eddie by his own insatiable need to know what the inside of Eddie’s mouth tasted like. He’d decided, when he was at home lying on his bed, panting slightly after a particularly explosive wank ( _lingering images of one particular ass wrapped in leather pants still floating lazily through his mind)_ that he was definitely, **definitely,** going to do something about this when he next saw Eddie. Most definitely. Even if it killed him, the last thing he was going to do was suck on Eddie Kaspbrak’s tongue.

 

* * *

 

With this new found resolve beating confidently in his heart, Richie strolled straight into the reception of Meyer Goldstein and a very tall man who was very much _not_ Eddie was behind the reception. Richie paused, and, trying not to panic, walked over.

 

‘Hi, is Eddie Kaspbrak here, please?’

 

‘Eddie? You mean Edward, the old receptionist? No, last week was his last shift, did you need him for anything important?’ Tall-not-Eddie replied, shuffling bits of paper. Richie glared at him.

 

‘What do you mean last week was his last shift?’ he asked, incredulous.

 

‘He quit, he got a place on a nursing course at St. Bart’s Teaching Hospital apparently, did you know him? Did he not tell you?’

 

‘No, he didn’t tell me’ Richie mumbled through gritted teeth.

 

Tall-not-Eddie looked at Richie with a soft, sympathetic smile.

 

‘I’m sorry, man, I don’t know what to tell you. Do you need me to sign for that?’ He gestured at the package that was hanging limply in Richie’s hands. Richie felt ridiculous as he fought back tears. He thrust the acceptance form into Tall-not-Eddie’s hands, and all but ran out of the building, barely making it back to his bike before he felt wetness on his cheeks. _Fuck._

 

* * *

 

 

Richie was almost positive that he would never be happy again. Nothing would ever make him laugh, smile or feel happy ever again. Sure, he was being a ‘ _melodramatic drama queen’ (_ Bev’s words, not his), but he couldn’t help wallowing in the depths of his Eddie-less sadness. He’d been back to Meyer Goldstein since then, and Tall-not-Eddie was actually a really rad dude called Bill, who’d remembered him from the time Richie had almost bit his head off for not being Eddie.

 

‘Hey man! Did you manage to track down Edward?’ Bill had asked, signing the package acceptance form.

 

‘Uh’ Richie said, dumbly.

 

‘Were you good friends or something?’ Bill had continued, cocking his head in question.

 

‘Not exactly, Big Bill, not exactly’ Richie had replied, before he’d word-vomited the entire situation. He told Bill about the first time they met, about the time he’d seen Eddie in leather trousers, about the time he’d made Eddie laugh so hard he’d sprayed coffee out of his nose, about the time Richie had gone to work sick as a dog and Eddie had fussed around him and sent him away with a flask of soup from the cafeteria. Bill had listened, nodding his head and making supportive ‘mm-hmm’ noises.

 

‘so, that about covers it, Big Bill. Eddie Kaspbrak, receptionist extraordinaire, was the straight-up, bonafide love of my actual life and now he’s just GONE’ Richie wailed, morosely.

 

Bill snorted at him.

 

‘But you only spoke to him for less than an hour every Thursday?’

 

Richie just sighed.

 

‘That’s all it took, my dude, that’s all it took’

 

* * *

 

 

Three weeks after the last time Richie had seen Eddie ( _not that he’s counting),_ and it’s the end of November. Normally, Richie would be in the best of moods. Christmas was coming, and New York was almost always blanketed in a crisp, fluffy layer of snow. Richie fucking loved snow. But this November, it’s almost always raining, the snow was not fluffy or white, but grey and slushy, and Richie didn’t give a damn about Christmas. He’s almost always soaked, biking around the business district in New York delivering stupid packages. He toys with quitting his job, but decides against it. He hasn’t been to an open mike for three weeks. He gets a call from Bev on his day off, asking him to cover her shift. Her Aunt is in the hospital or something, and she has to drive back to Jersey. Richie agrees to cover her shift, because he hasn’t got anything better to do. He does, however, make her promise to take him out to get royally fucked up at the weekend. He feels like he deserves to get stinking drunk. He writes Bev’s route down (‘ _I do Jackson-Evans on 5 th, the teaching hospital down near Julliard and the retail park near the old station, THANK YOU SO MUCH RICH’) _and sets off to the package depot.

 

He goes to the teaching hospital first, because it’s the closest to the package depot. He swings his bike into the parking lot, barely missing a deadly patch of ice, before he falls off his bike for a completely not-ice-related reason. The sign above the hospital, in pristine white letters, reads ‘St. Bartholomew’s Teaching Hospital’. _Eddie._

 

Richie picks himself up off the floor, and wheels his bike over to the bike parking. None of the packages are damaged, but he still manages to drop them twice more because his hands just won’t stop shaking. He feels like he’s drank fifteen coffees mixed with those disgusting energy drinks you get in 7/11, the ones that are the kind of blue that cannot be made from anything natural. He tries to breathe, goes through all the techniques his therapist taught him. He probably, almost certainly, will _not_ run into Eddie. This hospital is HUGE, and all he needs to do is find the general reception, drop off the package, and leave. Eddie could be, probably _is_ on the opposite side of the gargantuan building. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll be –

 

Richie storms through the double doors of the entrance before he can convince himself to abandon the packages and his bike and just run the fuck away.

 

Richie storms through the double doors, and is immediately lost.  He finds himself staring at an almost incomprehensible map, signs for ‘oncology’, ‘cardiology’, ‘neonatal’ crowding his vision like angry bees. Richie stares at the map, searching for where the hell a general reception could be, or just somewhere he could dump the package and get the hell out of there. He feels his skin begin to tighten around his bones. Anxious.

 

‘Can I help you? Are you lost?’ a familiar voice behind him asks with a hint of amusement.

 

Richie spins slowly on his heel.

 

Eddie stood in front of him, dressed in scrubs. They had tiny rubber ducks on them. Richie could cry.

 

‘You’re here’, Richie breaths.

 

‘I am’

 

‘You’ve always wanted to be a nurse, you told me that when we first met’

 

‘I have, and I did’

 

‘You didn’t tell me you were leaving’

 

The grin slides off Eddie’s face. He looks sad. No, he looks _guilty._

‘I know, I know I didn’t and I’m so sorry, Rich. I didn’t say anything because, I just… I got scared, you know? I liked you so much, and I didn’t know how to – I didn’t want to make it awkward, I didn’t want to risk asking you out on my last day and you saying _no_ and then the good memories being ruined you know? I didn’t –‘

 

Richie cuts him off, and pressed his lips to Eddie’s.

 

He can feel Eddie’s mouth smiling against his. 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> eeeee this is just a super fluffy, cheesy, terrible one-shot. It's been playing on my mind for a few days so I just wrote it down!! It's sort of really short, and a bit silly, but I hope you liked it <3


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